


Them

by LittleGreyMouse



Category: IT - Stephen King
Genre: Eddie Lives, Fix-It, M/M, lots of kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-15
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 01:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21437734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittleGreyMouse/pseuds/LittleGreyMouse
Summary: “He’s okay, Richie.”He stops breathing. The only things he hears are Bev’s voice and his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.“Eddie is alive.”--Richie visits Eddie in the hospital, and he's done keeping secrets.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 2
Kudos: 189





	Them

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I haven't seen Chapter Two yet. I'm sorry for any inaccuracies, but I needed Eddie to be okay, damn it.  
This is mostly a gift for me, but I hope you enjoy it!

“Eddie’s getting discharged on Thursday 🤗” 

That text from Beverly Marsh is what finally sobers Richie up after a three day bender. Well, “sober” may not be the right word. He has to squint to get the words on his phone to come into focus. He sees Eddie’s name first and a pang of grief winds through his body. He blinks and everything goes blurry again. 

Richie grunts, bringing the cell phone closer to his face. As he moves, the bottles of expensive liquor he fell asleep with clank together. 

“Eddie’s,” he reads. His heart hurts again. “Eddie’s. Eddie is.” Present tense. 

Finally, the bulb goes off in his brain. 

“Waht the fjck???” He writes back. “Fuck*” 

When Bev doesn’t respond after a few milliseconds, he calls her. He doesn’t realize that she sent the text eight hours ago, doesn’t care how late it is now. 

She picks up on the third try, her voice ragged with sleep. He repeats his all important question:  


"What the fuck?” 

“Richie?” She asks blearily. “Richie, it’s... it’s four in the morning.” 

“What the fuck do you mean ‘Eddie’s getting discharged,’ Bev?” 

Beverly sighs on the other end of the line, accompanied by the sound of shifting bedsheets. “From the hospital. They’re letting him leave this Thursday.” 

Richie’s breaths come faster. Something like hope rises up in his gut, but he tries to tamp it back down. 

“Eddie’s fucking dead, Beverly.” 

Silence. Just silence and breathing for way too long. 

“Beverly?” Richie calls. 

“Oh my god, Richie. Oh my god.” It's only when he hears the hitch in her voice that he realizes he’s crying too. “Richie, what did you see?” 

He tells her. The tears flow down his cheeks but he can’t give a fuck anymore. Reliving his worst nightmare for her focuses his mind and the alcohol-induced numbness ebbs away and everything is raw again. 

When he’s finished talking, Beverly clears her throat. “Jesus Christ. I’m so sorry.” 

“Yeah.” It's all he can think to say. 

Bev laughs, devoid of humor. 

“He’s okay, Richie.” 

He stops breathing. The only things he hears are Bev’s voice and his own heartbeat pounding in his ears. 

“Eddie is alive.” 

—-  
It’s a nice little hospital. Quaint, even. St. Genesius is a small Catholic hospital in Sagadahoc, Maine, a comfortable distance from Derry. The best part for Richie is they don’t ask their visitors a lot of questions. 

He races down the halls of the SSU, taking the stairs when the elevator doesn’t come quick enough. He repeats the room number like a mantra as his eyes scan nameplates outside the endless doors. His feet react before his head does and he stops in his tracks outside of room 217. He breathes in. Holy shit. There it is. Written in black sharpie under the number: “Kaspbrak, E.” 

The door is open, but he slams it back anyway. It bangs loudly against the wall and a murmured conversation halts. 

Richie stands there for a second, staring. He’s not crying yet, but the heat behind his eyes promises it’s coming. 

Eddie Kaspbrak stares back. He’s hurt; a new bandage over his cheek and a fuckton more all over his body, but he’s alive. 

He’s alive. 

“Holy fucking shit.” Richie says, breaking the sterile silence. 

Eddie Kaspbrak smiles at him. 

“Took you long enough, asshole.” 

Richie is a live wire of tension, pins and needles pricking up all over his body. 

He takes a step toward Eddie, and Eddie’s breathing and smiling and raising an eyebrow expectantly. There’s a monitor next to his hospital bed illustrating the steady pulse of his heart. Richie blinks, sure he’s dreaming. 

A dainty voice clears its throat. 

A cute, heavyset blonde woman is sat in a chair next to Eddie, watching Richie with a guarded smile. 

“Who’s your friend, Ed?” She asks. 

Eddie opens his mouth again. 

Richie speaks first, “Based on your resemblance to Eddie’s mom, I’m gonna go ahead and assume you’re Myra.” He takes a deep, shaky breath. “So I’m sorry in advance for this.” He crosses the room to Eddie’s side in long, determined strides and he does what he needs to do. 

Richie takes Eddie’s face in his hands and kisses him. Firm and resolute. Eddie squeals against his mouth and starts slapping at Richie’s arms, and somewhere far away he can hear Myra gasp. The only thing that matters is he’s finally kissing Eddie Kaspbrak. After grieving so hard, after hell on earth, after thirty fucking years of dreaming. 

Richie has had enough of secrets. 

When Richie finally pulls back, Eddie’s face is frozen with shock, his eyebrows practically in his hairline. Richie waits. 

“Uh,” Eddie finally speaks, “Myra, could you give us a minute?” 

The blonde stands awkwardly and grabs her purse in a vice grip. She mumbles a “see you soon” and flees from the room. Eddie rounds on Richie with a glare. 

“What the ACTUAL fuck, Richie?” He cries. “What the hell was that?” 

Richie deflates. He suddenly remembers why he’s been hiding for so long. 

“I just-“ 

“You JUST came in here and... and kissed me in front of my wife?” 

Richie can’t make eye contact. “I’m sorry, I...” 

“You don’t visit, don’t even text me for a week and then you just come in here and-“ 

“I thought you were dead.” It comes out as almost a whisper, shaky and breathless, but it silences Eddie immediately. 

“I saw you die,” Richie says, “It showed me... I watched you die.” 

Eddie’s mouth hangs open dumbly. Finally he just says, “Shit.” 

He opens his arms and grabs Richie by the shoulders, pulling him down into a hug. 

“Oh shit, Richie.” 

Richie returns the embrace and buries his face in Eddie’s shoulder. His body shakes with a violent sob as he feels the warmth of Eddie’s skin, his pulse against his ear. Eddie is solid in his arms. 

“Fuck man, I had no idea. That evil piece of... I’m okay. I’m okay, Richie.” 

They just hold each other for a while. Richie lets out all of the anguish and now relief he’s dealt with for the last week and Eddie pats his back and lets him. They don’t let go until Richie stops crying. 

With a tremendous breath, Richie stands back and pulls a chair over from the corner. It’s not as plush as the armchair Myra left, but it lets him sit close to Eddie, his knees pressed against the hospital bed. 

“Okay!” Richie smacks the arms of the chair. “Enough of this emotions bullshit. It’s gross.” Eddie rolls his eyes. “How are you even breathing right now? Did you or did you not get impaled?” 

“Oh, I 100% got stabbed,” Eddie confirms. “Bill and Mike had to carry me out of there bleeding like a stuck pig.” He pats his stomach appreciatively. “But thirty-six hours of surgery later and I’m pretty much back to normal.” 

“Oh, nice, normal is a big upgrade for you.” Richie leans back in the chair, feeling at ease for the first time in a long time. “I’d hate to be your surgeon. Did you fuckin' backseat drive the whole thing? ‘No, no, use the forceps, not the scalpel.’” 

“Okay, you’re joking, but I did put my own IV in because the nurse had shaky hands.” 

Richie smiles. The first in days. “You piece of shit.” 

The pair of them were not often silent, but on the rare occasions they were it was astonishingly comfortable. Richie just watches Eddie. Eddie fiddles with the bedsheets between his fingers and looks down. 

“You know, most friends hug when they’re excited to see each other. They don’t jump straight to first base.” 

Richie cringes. “Right. Yes. That. I did do that.” Eddie looks back at him expectantly. 

Richie sighs. “So the thing about that is...” 

Today is already weird enough. Why not just go full-tilt crazy?

“I’m fuckin’ in love with you, man.” 

Eddie freezes. He squints. He considers. He cries, “What?” 

Richie shrugs. “Yep.” 

“You... you haven’t seen me in years!” 

“It came back. All the memories, the feelings... all the shit from when we were kids came back the second I set foot in Derry again.”

“Are you fucking with me right now?” 

“Wish I was,” Richie sighs, “You’d think as a celebrity I’d have more refined taste.”

Eddie’s stuck staring into the middle distance. “Huh.”

Richie nods. He rocks in his chair. 

“You wanna like... say something? Kinda bore my soul just now.” 

Eddie shrugs. “Well it explains a lot.” 

“Oh, fuck off.” 

Eddie laughs and that’s all it takes for Richie to relax a bit. They’ll be okay. The comfortable silence descends again. 

After a minute, Eddie speaks up, smiling. “You know, when we were kids... I kinda always thought we’d get married.” 

Richie can’t help it. “Pff. Fag.” 

“Fuck you dude.” 

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” The glare he gets from Eddie is enough to make a guy want to give up on comedy. “Sorry. Old habits.” 

“Jesus, turn it off for once in your life. Anyway,” Eddie says pointedly. “I didn’t think we’d be married-married, cause that wasn’t really a thing back then. But I did think you and I would like...  
stick together forever.” 

Richie heats up with a full body blush. Then his eyes land on the armchair across the room. 

“So how’s your heterosexual marriage going?”

Eddie sighs. “Not great.”

“Shame.” Richie means it. 

“We’re separating. We were talking about divorce lawyers when you came in.” 

Richie sits up, eyes wide and brows knit together, “No shit.” 

“It just wasn’t right.” Eddie shrugs. “Especially after I came back. Once I really remembered about my mom and everything we went through... I can’t be the person she married. I don’t want to be that person.” 

Richie nods, wishing he knew what to say. 

“I can’t stay with someone I don’t love. It’s not fair to her, and it’s not fair to me.” Eddie looks pensive for a moment, pursing his lips. “And, you know, like 51% of marriages end in divorce so I mean it’s not an anomaly or a failure and my life isn’t totally falling apart around me.” 

“Dude. Breathe.” 

Eddie does. “It’ll be good,” he says, more to himself. “It’ll be good.” When his eyes land on Richie, a blush springs to his cheeks. “And it’s… like, you know how bad I am at getting out of my comfort zone.” 

“It’s more of a comfort shoebox, but continue.” 

“Maybe this can be an opportunity to… try new things?” 

Richie’s smile blooms across his face until it’s a full-fledged, shit-eating, Cheshire Cat grin. Eddie breaks eye contact. 

“Ooooh?” Richie sings. 

“Yup.” Eddie seems to be regretting his entire existence. Richie’s eating it up. 

“Like what?” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. 

Eddie huffs. “I’m gonna fucking change my mind if you’re gonna be a tool about it.”

“Why, Edward!” Richie coos, leaning to rest an arm of Eddie’s bed. “If this is about me, I’m simply flattered! I’m sure I can find time somewhere in my busy schedule-” 

“This was a mistake.” 

“You don’t have to be intimidated, I mean, I know I’m way out of your league, but we could make it work.” 

“Are you negging me right now? You know that doesn’t work on anyone you haven’t paid up front, right?” 

“Bad news for me, ‘cause I highly doubt that you’re a cheap date.” 

“You’re awfully cocky for a guy who just told me he’s been in love with me since we were ten.”

“Did I say love? It’s really more intellectual curiosity about whether you or your mom is the better lay. For science reasons.” 

“Is sincerity a completely foreign concept to you?” 

“I’m a professional comedian, Eds.” 

Then they’re kissing again. A real kiss this time; no force from Richie, Eddie’s not trying to escape. They come together softly, feather light. Richie’s practically flying. Eddie tastes like mouthwash and Vaseline and that’s not even a little bit surprising. Richie-

“You taste like vomit.” Eddie pulls back, cringing so hard he might pull something. 

“Oh.” Richie nods. “That’s probably the vomit.” 

“Dude, what the fuck?” 

“Oh, you try drinking three handles in an evening without yartzing that shit back up!”

Eddie shakes his head. “Please Tell me you brushed your teeth before sticking your tongue down my throat.” 

Richie laughs. “I didn’t even pack toothpaste for this trip.” Eddie gags, but it’s probably a bit. Mostly. “And I did not once use tongue today,” Richie clarifies. “But if that’s what you wanted, all you had to do was ask.” 

He sticks his entire tongue out. 

“No!” Eddie screeches, backing away. He hits the headboard and there’s nowhere left to run. “No, no, no, no!” 

It’s too late. Richie’s got his mouth on him and his hands clamped around Eddie’s neck. 

It’s their third kiss and the worst so far. Eddie’s gone so far past fight or flight that he just freezes up and waits for it to be over. 

When Richie frees him, he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. 

“That what you’re into?” 

“Not even close.” 

Richie’s smile turns into a laugh which turns into an almost villainous cackle. Eddie tries his best to look irritated, but it doesn’t last long. That laugh is an infection; the only one Eddie’s never been afraid of. He can’t help joining in. 

“I fucking hate you,” he says, but the grin on his face tells the truth. 

Richie’s heart is full to bursting. “Yeah, yeah.” He leans in again, waits for Eddie to meet him halfway. Eddie hesitates for a moment. But only for a moment.

“I love you too.”


End file.
